


In Me. In You.

by go_higher



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: AU, Drama, F/M, Family, Friendship, Gen, It's like i want to tell you this is a happy story, M/M, but then id be a liar, different kinds of love, im sorry, there's a lot more than romantic love in this, you're going to have to think about some things for this story lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-15 05:15:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19288900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/go_higher/pseuds/go_higher
Summary: It was like walking underwater, breathing underwater, living underwater with no way out.A pressure against the glass- building, pressing, pushing- until it cracked.The chains on his legs, gripped in his hands, pulled from behind- pulled from ahead."Tucker."You don't have to be okay.





	1. 01

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1: The Moment Of:

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Her words cut the silence like a knife.

Tucker looked at her across the table, everything inside of him fighting to break free.

He had to tell her. He  _needed_ to say the words. 

Before it was too late. 

Before she was-

"Tex." 

Terrified. 

Weak.

All he managed was her name. 

He wondered what his face must've looked like if it gave her pause. If for an instance, it made the shadows slip away from her face, the mask fall. 

And he could see it.

Past the steel, past the barricade of disdain and cold, she was _there_.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She gazed at him, silent. 

What had happened would never change.

What had happened could never change. 

Reality- and he wanted to stay far, far away.

She drew her hands from their evenly-placed spots on either side of her mug, nicked and calloused fingers cupping the brown porcelain in a careful, measured hold.

The distance between them grew. 

He gazed at her, from opposite sides of a canyon, teetering on a crumbling ledge. 

What was she thinking? 

What was she feeling?

Tucker wondered. 

How much longer could he pretend?

Only the monotonous ticking of the old clock on the wall dared to break the quiet. Dared to note the passing of the time. Because Tucker hadn’t bothered to notice what had come and what had went.

Hadn't bothered to try and figure out where she went and how she returned. 

In this muted space, in this lone cafe, for hours, for weeks, they could have sat, and nothing would have changed. Outside, past the snow-swept streets, lined by the window shops and their faded, broken shingles, nothing would’ve changed.

No matter the place, no matter their age, no matter if it had been years or simply minutes apart--

Nothing would’ve-

“Tucker.”

She spoke his name solemnly.

It came like a push.

Pressing soft, insistent, fingers urging him away.

“Go home.”

He looked at her, bewildered.

No. 

This wasn't- 

"Stay away."

It wasn't right.

It wasn't-

"I don't want you near me again."

Tucker shook his head. 

Why was she looking at him, at him, of all people, like that?

Like _that?_

Like _he_ was the one breaking apart?

Why was she sitting so defeated and bent, like he was the one to blame?

He wasn’t the one who left. He wasn’t the one who came.

He had only been waiting and yet--

His eyes met hers- and the light in them was gone.

The sun lowered through the glass at their side, burning bright and orange and gold. And yet there was no warmth.

Shadows swallowed down her face.

“Tucker, go home,” she said again.

He shook his head no.

Words failed on his tongue.

Tex was strong.

Tex was brave.

She refused to be held by no one, least of all herself.

She dragged the suffering from their suffocating pits of loathing and fear and doubt, threw herself into danger with a reckless grin even as she teetered on the balance between life and death.

He had seen her pained.

He had seen her worn and broken down.

He had seen as she would brush herself off, fire up a grill, ring their friends and call it a ‘good day’.

That was Tex. 

The one he'd always known. 

From childhood to now, who she was had never changed.

Fierce and unbeatable- so why, why, _why_ was she like this now?

Tex's eyes searched his own. 

She frowned, standing and regarding him with a look that said she wished he had never come.

He hated it.

Hated her.

“Stay?" he wondered.

She gazed at him, listened to his pitiful word, then slid from the booth and towards the small, cafe exit.

His brain buzzed as she walked. Whining for him to follow. Whining for him to chase.

 _Don’t let this go. Not like before. Not again. Get up,_ get up _, make her stop--_ get up!

His legs refused.

“Texas, please...” he begged.

She stopped at the door stopped at her name- the full name he hadn’t called her since they were two kids stuck up in a tree shaking hands on their first meeting.

Her palm, ready to push, splayed against the frosted, fractured glass without reflection.

But she didn’t look back.

And her voice didn’t change.

“Don’t follow me, Tucker,” she told him lightly. 

And then she was gone.

The bells dangling on the door hinge jingled bright and loud.

Tucker watched it close.

Watched it click, watched it shut- staying where he was.

Sitting, watching- waiting where he was.

Always where he was.

For the longest time-

He stayed.

 

* * *

 

“Tucker!”

"Oh fuck me."

Everyone really did have the worst knack for finding him when he wanted to be left completely alone.

Tucker forced out a breath, irritation prickling, lungs burning in the frigid air, and crushed some frozen leaves beneath his shoe.

When he looked up, he looked up from under a withered and frozen tree, bowing low towards his head.

The city was full of them- and an accurate representation of how he felt inside.

Which was pretty much dead.

“ _Tucker!”_ Caboose called again.

More insistent. 

The other man barreled down the sidewalk, a massive, bundled hulk of a creature in a padded coat, dark curls and tan skin, floppy hat and gloves, the model figure of what the human race could have been before the invention of convenient transportation, processed food and TV.

In other words, the opposite of Tucker- who was currently a terrifying amalgamation of procrastination, self-hatred, fast food and beer in living, breathing form that had long since stopped growing past 5’ 6 and had forgotten what it meant to feel joy.

Once-upon-a-time, Tucker had been a high school athlete, one of the best players on the team, and more importantly, in great shape.

Adulthood didn’t change everyone, but those it did change- it changed hard.

Caboose flailed to a halt before him, beaming wide.

Tucker didn’t bother with anything except an expression of pure dread.

“Oh god. The fuck do you want?"

Caboose reached for his hands and swung them around.

“I have come to see you!” he announced proudly, and loudly for no apparent reason. “Are you happy to see me? I am happy to see you again.”

“Define happy.”

“Were you thinking of fun things?”

“No. Any other questions?”

Caboose laughed, seemingly dismissing Tucker’s rotten mood. “Ahhhh, you know, just forget about it. They were silly questions.”

Tucker sighed again- and then started whining as Caboose pulled him along the sidewalk hand-in-hand.

He didn’t particularly care what other people thought seeing a man the size of an ox hauling his scrawny, sad, string-bean self along the sidewalk.

What he really cared about was _where_ he was being hauled.

And whether he should’ve brought his wallet.

Caboose had an awful tendency to drag them to a bunch of random places for the strangest, seemingly most pointless, things.

Like going on a walk around the city river to find the biggest fish, or searching for a specific bird he had seen on a branch three hours before, or digging through the dumpster for the leftover bagels the Coffee Commons had trashed at the day’s end- so they could give them to all the ‘sad people without homes’.

Truthfully, Tucker and Caboose had never managed to find that many bagels in the dumpster that Tucker would call safe enough to eat.

They always wound up buying four dozen more every Thursday at the store instead with so much cream cheese and butter on the side, Tucker had to wonder if they had ever run the Commons out of stock.

“Caboose,” he sighed, patience already running thin. “Where are we going?”

“Oh, you know. Places.”

“That’s not helpful.”

“I was not trying to be.”

Tucker rolled his eyes. "Yeah, no shit."

There was a time, once before, when they were kids, when Tucker would have never joined Caboose willingly anywhere, inside or out of school.

Tucker had been too problematic, Caboose too friendly, and their only point of commonality between them had been their grades and their age.

Back then, Tucker would’ve been happy pretending that no one else mattered- no one else existed, he didn’t care he never had a friend, he was fine by himself- who the hell was this weirdo who kept staring at the back of his head in class?

But Caboose had never stopped saying ‘hello’ and Tucker had never stopped grumbling it back-

And then Tucker had met Church-

And they had all met Tex.

Honestly it was impossible remembering when exactly they'd gone from four kids who barely knew each other’s names, to four kids who spent every hour after school and on weekends hanging out and playing games.

From the third grade and on they had always been together.

Except the night they hadn’t- without Tex and without Church-

And Tucker and Caboose had stayed out late in the park trying to copy stunts off of videos they’d watched online, eating mulch and dirt, joking as they walked the sidewalks of their hometown together from the park to their neighborhood homes.

But the lampposts lighting home had done nothing but illuminate the shadows and the lunging arms of Tucker’s waiting bullies as Tucker was grabbed off the street and beat.

Older boys, with dumb ass nicknames they made for themselves, Sharkface, Locus, Temple- ugh, goddamn _Temple_ - the older brother of that menace, Felix, the little shit, who threw erasers at Tucker’s head and mocked his art and Tucker-

Tucker back then was too small to fight back.

But Caboose wasn’t.

And Caboose threw himself in to help.

Tucker wished he hadn’t.

Tucker wished they’d never met.

Because one push too many, one push too strong, and Caboose went down, skull cracked on the cement- struck by the corner of an ill-placed, loose brick.

And when the bullies ran, because they did, the _cowards-_

The one left behind was Tucker.

On his hands and knees, on the dark asphalt, staining, bleeding red, noise in his ears- Tucker- at fault.

His fault.

Their fault.

The three boys had been expelled, their parents fined, and the case taken to the school board and local court when the incident came to light; when Tucker had called for help, petrified, yelling, and a lady closing shop down the street had come running.

When Caboose’s parents, in the hospital, had hurried in,  _terrified._

Just Caboose’s parents.

Not Tucker’s.

Never Tucker’s.

Not the bullies’ either.

Those kids would live with embarrassment and maybe with some guilt, a changed conscience or two, with slaps on the wrist and a scolding- maybe a punishment from their parents.

In the long run, there was a good chance they would be just fucking fine.

Maybe even kinder in life.

But Caboose?

Caboose had been hurt far more than money and student expulsions could repair.

 _"He was hurt very badly,"_  Caboose’s mother would later explain as she sat across from Tucker and his friends.

Caboose would be a little different and his brain wouldn’t quite be the same, but he was alive and it was a good thing and they were all very lucky and blessed Caboose remained.

Caboose, who after a year in the hospital and at home, had finally returned to classes, just as bright as before.

Caboose, who sometimes shouted his words for no reason and spoke in halting sentences- who sometimes made analogies that didn’t make sense and often lost his train of thought- who sometimes suddenly liked to grab hands and feel reassurance from others in a physical form.

And all Tucker could say in the face of a mother whose son had been forever changed, at a mother who loved her son and wore a brave smile even as she pushed back tears, was a pathetic-

_“I’m sorry.”_

Useless apologies. 

That was all Tucker was ever any good at. 

Because Tucker and his friends and their parents all knew.

If Caboose hadn’t been with him-

If Tucker hadn’t been such a problem-

If he hadn’t been born-

“Do not think the bad thoughts,” Caboose said suddenly, quite sternly.

His grip on Tucker’s hand tightened almost painfully hard.

“It is making you sad. So stop.”

Tucker snorted, zoning back in to their surroundings. “I’m not sad.”

Because if he was that would be pretty stupidly sad in itself. There was nothing to be moping about anyway.

They were both here living well now, weren’t they?

“You are a bad liar, Tucker.”

“I’m a great liar.”

“Then how come I always know you are lying?”

“You don’t. You never do.”

“I think you would be surprised.”

“Literally, nothing you do could surprise me at this point.”

“I accept.”

“It’s not a challenge.”

“I accept.”

“I said it’s not-” Tucker rolled his eyes, huffed and gave up. “Forget it.”

He pushed his nagging thoughts away, pushed them far with the ghosts of guilt and self-loathing, and let himself settle into the comfortable air left by their banter.

It had been far too long since Tucker last remembered seeing his childhood friend- and he had missed the familiarity it brought.

He wished he had felt this same way when face-to-face with Tex again.

But she had made it clear on where she and Tucker stood.

And it wasn’t together as any sort of friend.

Not anymore.

_Ping!_

The notification sounded off from Caboose’s pocketed phone, but the other man made no move to check or answer the incoming message.

In fact, he didn't seem to hear it at all.

A second notification came.

Then a third.

Tucker stared at Caboose's back as they walked.

"Who the hell is _that?"_

“Oh, do not worry. It is only Washington checking in. He does that a lot more when I go out in winter. He gets scared.”

Tucker frowned some more.

The name, Washington, sounded familiar, in an extraordinarily vague and foggy way.

Important.

Who was he?

A new therapist? A caretaker? A friend?

It was annoyingly hard to remember.

“Washington asks about you always. He smiles but I know he is sad.”

Tucker moved his stare to the back of Caboose’s head. “Why? I don’t know the guy," he said. "Have you been making up stories about me again?”

Caboose dropped his hand, ignored his question, and raced off. “Ah, yes! Tucker!” he yelled. “This is what I wanted to show you! Come! Here!”

Tucker stopped at the sidewalk’s edge.

A park.

They were in the city park.

Full of skeleton trees, wooden benches and winding, walking paths blanketed in mounds of blindingly bright white snow.

A few people were out, some walking dogs, some with their kids.

Most looked over at Caboose as he did a few rolls and tumbles, diving into the snow and making a massive angel with both legs and arms.

Caboose called for Tucker again.

Tucker kicked his way over, ignoring the eyes of the other park-goers that swung his way.

He couldn’t take his eyes off the freakishly large and mishapen identation in the snow.

 _That_ was supposed to be one of heaven’s most glorious creations?

Jesus was crying.

"This is what you wanted to show me?"

Tucker’s voice was flat. 

“No, Tucker,” Caboose said in a remarkably patronizing voice. One he only ever used when he thought Tucker was the biggest joke alive.

And without waiting for any kind of retort, Caboose seized Tucker’s ankle and dragged him to the ground.

Tucker screamed, the parents shuffled themselves and their kids away, and Caboose cheerfully hauled Tucker inside the hideous, snow-angel crater he had created with enough gusto to rip off his arm.

“You are too loud. Be quiet!” Caboose insisted, still shaking Tucker’s arm. “Look up!”

Tucker grumbled and glared and threw some snow at Caboose’s face instead.

Caboose threw it back in double and shoved an extra handful down his coat, spurring an extremely juvenile round of bickering and tussling before Tucker finally settled back and did as told.

Look at the sky, his ass.

Gray clouds swamped any sort of sky that might’ve existed.

There wasn’t a bird in sight, the sun a pale visage too distant for warmth of any kind to touch. 

Weird.

Tucker looked at it, confused.

Hadn’t it been much brighter before?

“It’s... the sky,” he said after a while- because really, what was he supposed to say?

“Yes, Tucker, it is the sky,” Caboose confirmed. “And though you cannot see it right now, one day you will again. So I think you should hold on, no matter what. Even if it hurts. Even if you think you cannot. The sky is always there. And so am I.”

What.

The hell.

Tucker glanced over.

Caboose didn’t look back at him, merely looking up and far away, eyes solemn and grim despite the grin at his lips.

It made Tucker feel strange.

Like he was missing out.

Like he was gone.

But Tucker threw those feelings away, too scared of facing what it meant, and said instead, “You’ve been reading too many motivational forums online. Or inspirational books from Flowers.”

Flowers, their tenth grade English teacher who held an impressive collection of self-care and love books, and waxed poetry like he was born from the moon.

A different moon.

Billions of light years away.

In an entirely different galaxy.

“Mr. Flowers did tell me that once,” Caboose confirmed. “He was right. Did you know he published a book?”

“Please don’t tell me you bought it.”

Caboose was quiet.

Far too quiet.

Then he said-

“I cannot see Church. I have tried. But it is too hard.”

Tucker froze at the mention of their best friend’s name.

He turned his head, cheek brushing and burning in the snow, staring at Caboose fully.

“I do not want to go alone. He will not answer. And I do not think I can.”

Caboose’s brow stayed furrowed, skyward gaze a clouded mirror of the one above as he confessed.

"I wonder if he is still mad," Caboose murmured.

What a dismal look on his face.

Tucker resented it.

“Caboose, no. Church-” Tucker hesitated. The name hurt to say. “He- he’ll be fine. You know how he’s been since Tex-”

Tucker paused, throat tightening, mind muddling with the abrupt flood of emptiness and _wrong_ the thought of her brought.

“Since Tex....”

Caboose waited.

Tucker struggled.

Fought.

Gave up.

“I know he’s been off. He’s upset. We all were.” Tucker tried not to look too uncomfortable. “And, you know, he loved her.”

Caboose sighed at his words. Then slid his eyes Tucker's way.

“So did you.”

Tucker hated that he forgot how to breathe.

How easily three words could seize his chest and squeeze so hard it felt like being crushed.

Because he did love Tex- but it wasn’t the same.

He didn’t want to hold her. He didn’t want to kiss her. Didn’t want to date her or be some sort of _lover_ like Church had been.

He just...

“I just didn’t want her to go. Any of them,” Tucker said, weakly, like all his strength had gone.

And maybe it had, because he felt like he was melting, right into the snow.

Limbs logged, numb and cold, lungs deflating, head stuffed with warm cotton, too much- too much.

“I think you are tired,” he heard Caboose say faintly. “That is okay! I will stay late if you want, until I have to leave. The stars get very big sometimes and I like to give them names.”

It was barely two in the afternoon. What was he saying?

Tucker wasn’t going to lie around in the snow all day anyway.

He had to leave and get work done at home. A drawing or two. Maybe a draft--

But his eyes were drooping, weighing heavy, closed.

“You can sleep, Tucker,” said Caboose lightly, somewhere above and beside his head. “But maybe if you see Church later on, you can talk to him and tell him I said 'hello'. And that he is a fool. And then you can return.”

 _"Sure thing buddy,"_ Tucker thought he said back.

But it was all white noise in his head.

 

* * *

 

 

Coincidentally and completely against his will, Tucker did see their forever-gone, missing friend, days later, in the middle of the night.

In his apartment.

In the middle of the night.

After he had broken in-

_In the middle of the freaking night._

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Church finished downing Tucker’s beer, snatched from the fridge. His eyebrows raised at the sight of Tucker, and he stopped drinking to crush the can and toss it aside in the dish-cluttered sink. He half-smirked.

“Nice to see you too, Tuck. Can’t say it hasn’t been a while. You not paying proper rent?" he joked, glancing around. "This place is freezing. And why are all your lights off?”

“Maybe the lights are off because it’s three in the morning,” Tucker said, full of salt, flipping the switch on by the doorway.

The kitchen flooded the room in a blindingly green light.

“Ah- fuck- _Jesus!_ Why’s it so bright?” Church screeched.

"Don't use the lord's name in vain," Tucker monotonously answered, watching as his longtime friend shrunk beneath the light's glow, flinching like an earth-ridden worm that had just been slapped by the sun for the first time in years.

Which was probably actually true.

Church honestly got as much sunlight as a bat with all the time he spent _skulking_ in the dark, clicking away at the ten computers in his own apartment, making sure to hate everyone and everything because of Tex.

Sure, Tucker sulked too.

But he didn’t have to isolate himself from the entire world like a goddamn five-year old to do it.

“Caboose put a new bulb in the last time he came,” Tucker said to his friend.

He folded his arms across his chest, bare and prickling in a sea of goosebumps.

“The old one burst in a horrific explosion of radiation. It was a pretty big deal. You’d know if you were around- but you weren’t. By the way, want a drink? How about another beer since you helped yourself to a first one already? You could eat all my food and crash on the couch if you wanted to do that too. Just let me turn my back first.”

Church scoffed at his words. “Touchy much? What’re so sensitive for?”

“Is that a serious question?”

Tucker wondered if a fist in the other man's throat would be an appropriate answer.

If anything, it would wipe that stupidly clueless look off his best friend's face.

The dumbass.

“You disappear from the universe for _months_ , no calls, no texts, ignoring all of our own messages, driving Lina- your sister, in case you forgot you fucking had one- crazy with the fear you might be _dead_ , and then you just show up here, sipping beer and being a total ass like nothing happened?" Tucker incredulously questioned. "What’s your excuse, jackass?”

“Jeez, you _are_ touchy,” Church snorted. He glared at Tucker. "The fuck." 

"Go fuck yourself." Tucker glared right back. “You can answer or get out. Or just get out. I'll show you to the goddamn door.”

Church, looking particularly exasperated at Tucker and his words and not _nearly_ as offended as Tucker wanted, pushed his slipping glasses higher onto the bridge of his crooked nose.

It was a not-so-fascinating story involving two sleds, a roof and a wayward dream about flying at the age of six like a superhero they both immediately suffered the consequences of upon impact with the ground.

Before Tex or Caboose had ever stepped into the picture.

Long before their families decided to toss aside the meaning of the words, shattering on themselves, like a skyscraper made of glass.

They had history together.

A lot of it.

But history didn’t mean swiping every wrong a friend did off the table and celebrating with a new meal.

Tucker waved a hand.

“Dude. Can you just.... come back later? Or never? Preferably never?”

Church rolled his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic. I came because of you.”

Tucker was suitable unimpressed. “Me.”

“Yes, Tucker. _You._ That’s what I said.” Church had the nerve to look annoyed. He approached Tucker, knocking shoulders once as he brushed past to wander down the shadowed hall.

Tucker followed with zero hesitation. “How did you get in?”

“I’ve always had the key. Did you forget?”

“Guess I did. Since you were gone forever.”

“You gonna keep giving me a hard time or are you actually going to shut up and listen to what I have to say?”

“Well what do you have to say? Is it an apology?”

“Why would I apologize?”

“And to the left is my front door.”

_“Tucker.”_

Church stopped and glared.

And so did Tucker.

In the sweeping darkness gathered in the narrow space, void of light save the dim glow from the kitchen, it appeared few things had changed about his friend.

The undercut and floppy hair and dumb goatee that didn't know whether to be a sad beard or some sort of five o'clock shadow hanging off his chin was still there. So was the scowling twist of his uneven lips and the heat simmering beneath his dark eyes- always picking things apart and calculating their worth.

But those eyes were ones he had gotten from his dad. 

And they all hated them. 

Most of all Church.

But here and now Church looked exactly the same as he had the day he walked out on their lives.

Except his skin was sunken like he hadn’t slept in years, his shoulders tight and drawn in like he had been carrying the weight of an important secret strapped across his back for an indefinite amount of time.

Church had always been taller than Tucker, a bit broader, stronger too. But somehow, in this moment, it felt like his friend had gotten smaller.

Defeated.

Tired and done- and if Tucker let himself admit it- even a bit _remorseful._

Well he should be. 

The fucker.

What was Tucker supposed to say to his best friend?

_“Thanks for not being dead, man! Good to see you!”_

They’d been through everything- absolutely _everything_  together- abuse and grief and pain, and yet it was Tex, _Texas_ , who he let drag it all away?

Of course Tucker was mad.

He was fucking furious.

They were supposed to be _better_ than this.

They'd  _promised._

But Tucker was tired too.

And he didn’t want to do this right now with his friend.

So he muttered, "Fine," instead, letting the exhaust creep in. 

First Tex, then Caboose, and now Church. 

What the hell did they all want from him?

He wasn't the one who'd sought out Tex- she had come and found  _him_ and then up and  _ditched him_ again.

He was too tired for this. 

Everyone should've gone back to pretending he had never existed.

Tucker scrubbed his eye with the heel of a hand, wishing the sleep would go with it, wishing he had thought to ask Caboose to check out his heater as well, because yeah, it was freezing and it sucked and he wasn’t wearing any socks in the middle of winter like a _noob._

Sometimes he really hated himself.

“Fine. _Fine_ ,” Tucker grumbled again as Church waited, caving in. “ _Talk._ But can we not do in the middle of the hall like a couple of creeps? I refuse to be standing for...” he gestured with his hands, “whatever _this_ is gonna be.”

Church studied him for a moment, eyes searching, taking in Tucker’s appearance as if seeing him for the first time too. Then he cocked his head to the side in contemplation, expression utterly unreadable as he spoke.

“You hungry?”

"..." Tucker's pause only lasted for a second. "Fuck me."

“I’ll be outside,” was all Church said, turning to go.

Tucker shouldered past and made his way further down the hall, across his box of a bathroom to enter his closed bedroom in search of his wallet.

There wasn’t much in it.

Tucker didn’t have a great deal of things to begin with from home and had never bothered to buy anything new.

A bed, a shelf, dirty laundry on the floor, walls deep blue. A small, uncurtained window let in the passive hue of the moon.

No posters and definitely no pictures.

What was the point?

They were reminders of events, people and places he wanted to forget. It was easy to forget if he stopped trying to care.

But he did care.

Way too much.

So the ghosts remained.

Tucker stooped, throwing on a hoodie over top his sweats, thinking of his friend and his god-awful timing and even more awful appearance.

Church had woken Tucker from the first blissful sleep he had in _ages._

It was  _annoying_. 

Even if Tucker wasn’t so sure of what he had been dreaming about, even if Tucker wasn’t so sure how he had gotten from his bed to the kitchen-

It was seriously the worst.

Tucker couldn’t remember feeling so well-rested, so content before in the sheets of a bed, surrounded by warmth and darkness and voices.

Then he’d been pulled away.

“Stupid Church,” he uttered, finally finding his blasted, scratched up wallet.

Tucker shoved it in a pocket and stood, just as a loud _ping_ ricocheted from his bedside to his ears.

He frowned. Went to the small nightstand with a round lamp, littered in pens and pencils and pads, and stared.

His phone glowed.

Tucker grabbed it and scrolled.

 

**now**

Lina: I’m sorry

 

**6 min ago**

Lina: I just-- nevermind. I don’t know what to say.

 

**10 min ago**

Lina: I needed to... I wanted to talk to you.

 

**11 min ago**

Lina: Are you there?

 

**15 min ago**

Lina: Tucker.

 

 

Tucker picked up the phone and called.

The other side rang and rang and he fought down the foreboding feeling that something was wrong, something wasn’t right.

“C’mon,” he uttered, anxiety flitting about his chest.

Heat prickled at his skin, sweat clamming his palms.

Answer.

_Answer._

And then-

_“Tucker.”_

Carolina’s voice broke through, crackling with poor signal.

The relief in her voice was so tangible it felt as though Tucker had been yanked straight into her arms.

Tucker was bewildered.

“Carolina, what’s wrong?”

_“I’ve... worried. We... all of us-- it’s been... I can’t sleep. After the accident... feels like it’s impossible to reach you. And Church--”_

Tucker gripped his phone tighter. “What? I can’t hear you-- What are you talking about?”

_“Caboose just says... About you, about my brother, about Tex. I can’t- I couldn’t... away. How... I? After everything... you ...”_

“Carolina, slow down, I can’t-”

God the signal was terrible.

Was she under the motherfucking ocean or something?

Words breaking over static- the hell was she rambling about?

It wasn’t like Carolina to send messages, let alone express sentimental _feelings_ in a call.

She was confrontational.

She liked to settle things face-to-face.

And not with hugs.

What was  _with_ everyone today?

Had Tucker done something wrong?

But now Carolina had paused in her speech, and now Tucker waited, more confused than concerned, his anxiety swept away.

She was far too quiet. 

"Carolina?" he wondered.

 _“I wanted to know you were okay,”_ she said suddenly, sounding very small.

“I am,” he told her. “Lina, I _am_.”

_“The accident-”_

“Was ages ago. I’m fine,” he insisted, even as he brought a hand to the nape of his neck and held it tight.

_A lingering screech, tires skidding across asphalt slicked with ice, dark and black and wet._

_Sirens- wailing sirens- glass shattering, slipping, bleeding multi-colored, green and yellow and red._

_No._

Tucker threw the image from this head.

Threw the shouts and fear and the blood and the sight of his best friend, oh god, _oh god, Church-_

“...Church?”

The name wavered, hanging on Tucker’s lips.

Fog in his mind, clouding the day, clouding the night they had left and-

 _“It was awful. I remember it... every night I... The way you looked when they finally let us in. My brother-”_ her voice broke. There was silence. When she spoke again, her words were crystal-clear, stilted, but clear, and so very far away. _“I wanted to talk about good things. I don’t know why I... ”_

“It’s okay,” Tucker said softly, without knowing why.

Maybe it was the visage appearing before the misted field of his mind, of his red-haired, terrified, stiff-jawed childhood friend, standing at the curtain between his bed and the door, walls white, IV dripping slow and quiet in his arm.

Maybe it was because Carolina had never ever let anyone see her fall.

Even though she had so many times before...

Because of Tucker, because of Church, because of the pressure of a father that left her and her brother to blacken and rot when they weren’t good enough to live up to ideals that were neither of their own.

Had Carolina ever truly been happy?

Tucker thought she might’ve been at one point.

He was remembering her laugh.

Her eyes as she spoke about someone else.

But the more Tucker racked his muddled brain, the more difficult he found it was to pinpoint the exact moment in time his friends had been _happy._

For real- happy.

Church and Carolina, every smile painted with scorn and self-derision, every sigh with disappointment, with exhaustion.

They were siblings who had always suffered.

Tucker frowned, something surely crumbling in the depths of his mind at the reminder of who they had been- of what Tucker had done.

_What did I do?_

He couldn't remember. 

He clung to a wall of denial and safety with little more than a belt and slipping reigns, clutching hard, grabbing tight to a single, solid name through the sudden onslaught of memories he did not want.

_Texas._

She brought out the best of them.

Of Carolina.

Of Church.

Of Tucker.

Irritable, distant, grumpy as they were, Tex brought a fire in her wake and kept in burning in their eyes.

A fire of possibilities and change and promises that they were all better than they believed themselves to be-  _pushing_ them to be. 

And they all drew to Tex, like hands bound on a clock, forever spinning close.

Because all hands on Tex’s clock had been forged in titanium, every second passed, filled with a moment of change.

Forward- ever forward- again and again again.

Until she had gone. 

Leaving hands with no direction.

Not enough power to move on.

Some of them had tried.

Some of them did.

But some of them couldn’t.

Church couldn’t.

And because of Church, because of _Tucker_ now-

Carolina couldn’t either.

“Carolina,” Tucker said quietly.

She didn’t answer.

He blinked, confused.

“Carolina?"

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

Tucker pulled the phone from his ear and looked at the screen.

A number keypad met his gaze.

The call had ended nearly ten minutes ago.

Had he been standing and thinking into space for that long?

Tucker frowned.

Damn.

She'd gone and left just like that without a goddamn word?

The hell was that about?

It wasn't like her.

He set his phone down slowly.

1:15 AM stared back at him, silent, vibrant- numbers too bright.

Tucker flipped the phone over.

Paused.

Then slid it in his pocket.

He stood for a while in the quiet shadows of his room, weary and numb and cold.

What a load of shit.

What were any of them doing?

Why had things _happened_ like this?

Caboose was the only one of them left who seemed to carry the torch of who they all once were. He held that bright mentality and unwavering, childish trust in them that as long as they were here together, they would all be okay.

But that too- was just another one of Tucker's faults.

What a fuck-up.

Ghosts on his shoulders, he turned and left the room.

Surely, Church was waiting.

 

* * *

 

“What took you so long?” Church complained the moment Tucker stepped out his apartment and into the frigid, early morning air. “It’s fucking freezing!”

Tucker locked his door, making sure to take his time dragging his feet as he descended the set of wooden steps to the parking lot ground. “Good. I hope you freeze into a shitty rock,” he retorted.

They got into Church’s car- something ugly, worn and a horrendous shade of cobalt blue with wood paneling.

God.

Tucker had been so numb minutes before.

The phone call, Carolina, his misery and surprise at encountering his 'missing' friend.

Now he was pissed again after just one look at Church’s face.

His toes pressed into the car floor.

Shit.

Fucking fantastic.

He forgot to put on shoes.

Church started the car, but not before glancing at Tucker’s sour expression and bare feet. “Where are your shoes, dumbass?”

“Same place everything else is. Up your butt.”

“Real mature. What are you, five? You still wanna fight? I can kick your ass, no problem.”

“That’s a lie and we both know it.”

"It's not a lie."

"Oh shut up. You'd be the first to the cry."

Church ignored the accusation, looking at him seriously. “Do you even know _why_ you’re mad?”

Tucker did.

But he didn’t know how to say, _“because you left”_ , without sounding like some giant loser way too attached to his friends.

So he didn’t.

Instead he grumbled out a supremely annoyed, “Whatever. Shut the fuck up. We driving or what?”

Church rolled his eyes so far they just about got stuck in the back of his head.

Nonetheless, he pulled out the tiny lot and onto the near empty streets of the city, soft lamplight guiding their way.

There wasn’t much activity in a small, remote city like Camden, wedged between a line of mountains and a forested river.

It was a place constantly under construction, oddly casual and more hipster and more grungy in parts than expected.

But it was also far away enough from all their childhood homes, Tucker supposed things like that didn’t really matter.

He certainly didn’t mind.

Twenty minutes later, Church’s car left the Wendy’s drive-through.

They parked in the lot of a Walmart up the street and immediately split four burgers and five fries between them without a word.

Tucker sipped at his soda, unnerved.

There were a smattering of other cars in the lot- early morning shoppers and employees working the late-night twenty-four hour shift.

Still, Tucker couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

Was it Carolina’s call that had put him so much on edge?

Or was it Church?

Tucker unwrapped his third burger, stopped and looked at the bun as if it held all the answers to his questions.

It didn’t.

Tucker wrapped the burger back up and left in it his lap.

Church being here beside him so casually was so hard to believe.

Tucker didn’t dare think it wasn’t true.

He couldn’t make himself deny it.

Yet when he glanced over at his friend, he took notice of the food in between them and frowned.

“You didn’t eat,” he said, staring at the fries eaten from his end alone.

Church, stayed as he was, chin propped on a hand against the side of his door. He stared out the dashboard as he leaned his weight into his arm.

“I wasn’t hungry,” he replied dully. 

Tucker’s frown grew. “Then why... ?”

“You looked like you needed it. You look just as bad as I do.”

Tucker found himself staring, found himself put off by the sudden turn in mood.

Somber, desolate, somewhat poignant in the space between them.

The air turned to lead, bearing down thick and slow onto Tucker’s head the more he let it consume them.

The more Church continued to talk.

“You’ve been here since the crash, haven’t you? I can’t blame you for not doing anything, but you think you’d have noticed by now. What you’re doing to yourself.”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you? That’s not what everyone else seems to think.”

“I’m _fine,_ ” Tucker stressed again. "What's with everyone today? You're all up my asses. Did I press some sort of _stalk Tucker_ button in my sleep?" Because where was any of this coming from? “What are you even talking about?” he demanded to know aloud. “You were there, Church. You already know what happened. You were the one who-”

 _Died_ , a voice supplied.

 _Almost died_ , his brain countered.

Was there a difference when it had happened?

It didn't erase the accident.

And for the first time since they parked, Church stopped staring out the windshield to look at him calmly.

“What about me, Tuck?”

Tucker kept his eyes on the burger, re-wrapped by his own hands in his lap.

Untouched.

“Nothing.”

He heard Church sigh.

Tucker found himself getting riled the sound. He tore his gaze from the burger and scowled at his friend.

“I thought were were here to talk answers. Why’re we talking about _me?”_

Church fixed him with a look so hard, Tucker felt it go straight through his head and out the car.

_“Tucker.”_

And he sounded so full of disbelief.

Church's fingers gripped the car wheel.

“How can you not know?”

Tucker waited, brow furrowed.

Church's words were loud and clear.

“I’m here because of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're confused then I've done my job lol
> 
> So this is my first (finished) story for Red vs Blue... after being in the fandom since the start of season 2 on YouTube before everything kind of took off with the guys haha 
> 
> This whole story is already written-
> 
> But I thought I'd finally post. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy?
> 
> It's uh... real cheery. 
> 
> JK but it kinda is.
> 
> (but it isn't)


	2. 02

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1: The Moment Of

Snow again.

His name was called.

Tucker swung his distant gaze from the window and turned around.

In the middle of Carolina’s neatly-kept kitchen, stood Tex donned in a simple tee from her fire station and ripped jeans.

A case of beer was slung over one shoulder as her eyebrows raised in question.

From the expression on her face, he must’ve drifted off again.

Tucker wondered how long it had been this time.

His eyes dropped to her boots, mucked in frost and dirt.

“Carolina's gonna be so pissed,” he heard himself say.

“Carolina will be too busy trying to put the moves on York to care,” Tex retorted. She jerked her head behind her. “Let’s go.”

Tucker followed her through the kitchen door, down the patio steps and into the small yard.

The grass was tall and itchy, uncut and green.

Above the sun shone, a beacon of warmth and light set into the marvelously blue sky.

He stopped on the bottom stair of the porch.

In the yard, there was York, fiddling with a grill.

The rest of their friends milled about the open space, drinking and chatting in good moods.

Simmons and Grif were too busy arguing over the placement of a volleyball net to notice Caboose had already put it up.

Donut laid in the grass, as he did every time, tanning with a beach hat, calling nonsense to Caboose about the trajectory of the net poles affecting gameplay, so _“try turning them to the east!”_

Tucker rolled his eyes.

Directly beside them was Doc, talking Church’s ear off with so much excitement he looked like he would vibrate out his skin.

Church, on the other hand, looked as though he would die if he had to spent one more second in the one-sided conversation about the near magical healing properties of aromatherapy.

Tucker snorted at the sight. 

Fuck if he'd ever get involved in that. 

He didn't envy Church for one second. The dude's wealth- maybe. 

But never his life. 

Tucker’s eyes dragged over the yard, catching sight of Carolina as she went from the blue coolers by the food table, to Logan at the grill.

It was sheer second-hand embarrassment that followed as she took over York’s job of igniting the grill and proceeding to insult his lack of skills with stilted laughter and bright red cheeks.

Carolina and _romance._  

Tucker grinned. 

How hopeless.

The sun bore down hard.

Tucker lifted his gaze and stared into its burning rays.

His lips bent in confusion.

Hadn’t it been snowing before?

When Tucker returned his gaze to the yard, it was to disorienting spots in blurred vision and everyone’s eyes fixated on him.

They were silent.

Deathly silent.

Unmoving, regarding him with dull, lackluster eyes.

"Guys?"

The question came from his mouth, in his voice- no- spoken from his head. 

He didn't recognize it. 

Tex strode through their friends, parting like a sea, heading for the back of the fenced yard where a large, robust tree stood. Her voice was calm and steady, unbothered as she called without ever looking back.

“Well? You coming?”

Tucker hesitated only once.

Then he stepped off the stairs-

-and into rain.

Thunder boomed.

The earth shook as Tucker stumbled to a stop.

Over their heads lightning cracked, a whip of jagged, screeching white against the roiling skies.

Tex faced away from him, on her knees, at a crumbled hole in the alleyway brick between a set of stench-saturated trashcans and a wired fence. Her bobbed hair was plastered to her neck as she worked, hands sliding under the edge of the torn fence to reach the hole in the wall on the other side.

Wire scraped at her skin.

“It’s not gonna work,” Tucker said, voice high, as he shivered from head-to-toe. His hood sat uselessly, pulled over his head, heavy and soaked in the merciless onslaught of rain.

He should’ve been home.

Both of them had stayed late to help Ms. Joanne decorate the theater and gym for the Christmas festival next week. Along with a few other kids.

But Tucker’s dad had made it clear he was supposed to come home right away afterwards.

Right away.

It had been hard enough convincing his dad to let him participate in Ms. Joanne’s extra credit offer, and his mom had gotten hit for it, so Tucker really didn’t want to make things worse and make him more mad.

His dad had given up the argument when Tucker said that he had told Ms. Joanne a long time ago, that he would help.

Wouldn’t she think it was weird if he didn’t show after talking about it to her all week?

Especially knowing how hard he was trying to raise his grades.

Plus, Tucker had already told Tex and Caboose and both their parents he was going to join the decorating team with them.

Tucker’s dad had grunted at those words.

Oddly enough, his dad didn’t give so much of a fight whenever Tucker mentioned his friends or their parents.

Maybe it was because Tex’s dad was such a serious-looking cop.

Maybe Tucker’s own dad was scared.

Or maybe it was because Caboose’s parents were a part of the school committee, whatever that was, and could report weird things to the principal about Tucker and his family.

And then there was Church’s dad...

Tucker didn’t know anything about him, except he was super rich and creepy, but according to Church, the guy had a lot of ‘connections’, whatever that meant, and maybe that was something that scared Tucker’s dad too.

Not that Tucker was complaining.

Still, even with his friends and their parents, at home was the one place they couldn’t help if Tucker broke the rules.

“My dad’s gonna be mad,” he said.

Tex stayed crouched down, hands fiddling. “I don’t think so,” came her reply, muffled as she worked. “He knows you’re with me.”

“So?” Tucker tried not to get mad at how flippant she was. “That hasn’t stopped him before.”

He shifted in his soggy sneakers as Tex paused to consider his words.

She couldn’t possibly know what it was like, even if she tried.

His dad’s moods were unpredictable.

One minute he would drop a proud hand on Tucker’s head and tousle his hair, praising him for beating up some bullies- the next he would be screaming and throwing things across the kitchen over a glass of spilled juice.

“... I’m almost done,” Tex answered finally, a bit of reluctance to her tone. He heard the apology in her voice too, but it didn’t do anything to lift the sudden, rotten mood off of Tucker’s shoulders.

“Why are you trying so hard?” he asked, upset. It was too wet and cold to pretend to be anything else. “It probably ran away. Or died. You don’t have to keep looking.”

Tex didn’t answer but he could tell his words had made her mad.

It was in the stiffness of her shoulders, in the way she refused to look back.

Tucker didn’t get it.

He had never seen any other fourteen-year old so eager to help other people and animals in need.

Kids like them were interested in other stuff.

Games and clothes and friends and food and telling themselves they were either really awesome or super lame.

Their one friend, Grif, lived for food and sleep.

A straight-A student who never studied and always napped in the back of classrooms, and Tucker had never ever seen him do their assigned homework.

So how was that possible?

Tucker wrangled in his drifting thoughts as another crack of lightning broke the sky.

Rain crashed, dumping like buckets on their heads, and in the rumbling roar of thunder that followed-

Tucker heard it.

The soft mewl.

Carefully, slowly, Tex wriggled her hands from the hole in the wall, pulling them under the torn fence as she shifted to her knees. She stayed unbothered by the pool of rainwater they soaked in, grinning instead.

As she climbed to her feet, she tucked the bundle of matted fur to her chest, looking at the white kitten cradled in her palms. “If it can be saved, then it should be saved,” she said. “And if I can help, I’m going to help.”

Tucker frowned at her words.

He understood them- but not really. If it had been him alone on the way home from school, he wouldn’t have stopped.

Tex was always better that way.

Tucker hadn’t even heard the kitten cry as they were running by, much less glimpsed the bit of fur as it darted for shelter into the wall, but somehow Tex had.

In that one second, she had skidded to a halt, seized his arm, and dragged him down the alley.

Sometimes Tucker really doubted if Tex was actually human.

She was more like a superhero in the films and comics he liked to watch, punching bullies and smart-mouths and rescuing everything.

She was cool.

Way, way, cooler than him.

Tex raised the kitten eye-level with Tucker, smug, her grin growing wider, oblivious to his thoughts. “How could you abandon something so cute and small anyway? Aren’t you glad we stopped?”

 _I don’t know,_ Tucker thought.

Tex deposited the animal very gently into his arms, and Tucker held it, confused on when he had even raised his arms to hold it.

The kitten was so tiny and shaking so hard.

Was it hurt? Was it scared?

Tucker would be too.

A second round of thunder beat the air, rolling deep and far, a procession of mighty, pounding drums.

Tucker unzipped his jacket and moved his hands to hold the kitten safe inside. He looked at Tex in question.

Now what?

 

* * *

 

They rang the doorbell.

At their backs, the rain had settled; soft patters in the growing eve.

Tucker squirmed as they waited, listening to the laughter and cheery voices drifting from the other side of the red-painted door.

The kitten hadn’t stopped trembling but maybe it realized it was safe.

Tucker felt it purring. Felt its matted head trying to nuzzle between his own numb fingers with care.

He stroked his thumb along the kitten’s scrawny back. He was shaking, his body shaking with nerves so bundled it hurt.

What if she saw them and closed the door?

What if she saw him and glared?

What would do?

What should he do?

The door opened.

Caboose’s mom looked at Tucker and Tex in clear surprise.

“Oh my goodness!” she half-exclaimed. “What are you two doing here?”

She stepped aside quickly and ushered them into the orange warmth of her home.

Tex sat on the carpet and removed her boots right away, rubbing her socked feet on the patterns for heat.

But Tucker stayed standing, uncomfortably inside, flinching as Caboose’s mom shut the door.

He kept still as Caboose’s mom lowered his hood and took a good look at his face.

Something crossed her expression, something he couldn’t read.

But whatever it was, he didn’t want to know.

She wasn’t smiling.

He looked down.

She looked away, and called for her son.

“Caboose! Your friends are here!”

A loud clatter came from the kitchen on the opposite end of the picture-framed hall.

Caboose appeared in a blur of grinning cheeks and curls, thudding towards them with the speed and terrifying force of a high-school line-backer.

He looked like one too.

Tucker didn’t get it.

Caboose had been so short before- and scrawny.

Then middle school came and he was the size of a giant.

“Tucker! And Texas!” Caboose exclaimed, skidding to a halt.

He swept Tex into a bone-crushing hug as she got to her feet.

One so hard it made both Tucker and Caboose’s mom wince.

“Caboose. Buddy. Good to see you,” Tex greeted back, the strain in her voice clear to hear.

Caboose released her, beaming, and searched her face curiously. “We are eating dinner! Do you want to join? There is a lot today! Me and my sisters will try not to each so much.”

Tex smiled at the offer. “How’d you know? I’m starving.”

And just like that she went.

Tucker watched, flabbergasted, as she sauntered off into the kitchen, her voice ringing out cheerfully as she greeted the rest of Caboose’s family like they were her own.

He could never.

“Tucker?”

He dragged his eyes from the kitchen’s direction, meeting Caboose’s careful gaze.

He wondered what the look on Caboose’s face was for.

“Will you stay too?” Tucker heard him ask.

Tucker’s eyes fell to the carpet, gathering mud and dirt from his filthy, busted shoes.

It was a nice-looking carpet, white and green and gold with swirling patterns and brown lining.

_Must’ve cost a lot...._

“Tucker?” Caboose’s mom inquired.

Miss Miranda.

Tucker remembered her name well.

Tex said it so often. Said it so easily. So brightly.

Tucker tore his gaze from his feet.

Miss Miranda looked at him, troubled, a barely-there smile at her lips.

“You can take off your shoes if you’d like,” she said after a moment. “If you’d like to stay.”

She didn’t want him too.

Tucker could tell.

Like he could tell how Caboose’s dad, Mr. Francis, would rather he stay far, far away from their home and their kids.

Like how he could Miss Miranda didn’t trust him, didn’t like him, standing at a distance now, with her hands on Caboose’s shoulders.

Like if she left him alone with Tucker for too long, Caboose would end up in the hospital again.

Tucker could tell it all.

Why was Miss Miranda even bothering waiting for an answer?

They both knew what it would be.

Inside his jacket, the kitten shuffled.

Tucker forced himself back into the present, out of his own head, hands shaking as he opened his jacket up.

Everyone else could pretend all they liked.

Caboose’s mom and dad hadn’t forgiven him.

They never would.

Whatever.

Tucker didn’t care.

He hadn’t come for them.

He had come for Caboose.

It didn’t matter.

_I don’t care._

But his voice cracked as he spoke and he hated himself all the more. “Um...”

Too tight.

Too dry.

His throat was closing up.

“Oh!” Caboose’s exclamation startled Tucker.

Tucker’s attention swung from Miss Miranda and her cold stare to his friend as Caboose surged forward and reached for the kitten poking its head from his jacket.

“What is this?” Caboose asked excitedly. He looked down at Tucker with squinty, suspicious eyes. “You went and bought a cat without me?”

Tucker huffed. “ _No_. We found it-- Tex found it-- in a wall. She got it out. I can’t... take it home.” His eyes wandered reluctantly to where Miss Miranda stood listening. His voice faltered again. “Um... Tex thought... maybe Caboose could have it. Or you guys... could. If you want. Tex said she’d take it home if you didn’t want it. Him. Her.” Tucker paused. “The cat.”

Miss Miranda just looked at him.

Tucker wished she wouldn’t.

Caboose cooed, holding the small kitten in his arms with extreme carefulness in his wide hands. “What is her name?” he questioned Tucker.

Tucker frowned. “I don’t know.”

Caboose peered into the kitten’s eyes. “They are very blue. Look Tucker!” He turned the kitten towards Tucker. “Did you know?”

Tucker didn’t. He had been too busy running. Blinded by the rain and struck by the damp cold.

But now that he was face-to-face with the animal he could see-- the bluest, brightest set of eyes.

For the first time that evening, he questioned why it didn’t have a home?

Had it been abandoned?

Or had it run away?

The kitten swung out of Tucker’s sight with a fluctuating _mreow_ as Caboose whirled towards his mom.

“Can we keep her?”

His mom sighed.

“Caboose, an animal is a lot of responsibility...”

“I am responsible,” Caboose proclaimed proudly.

His mom’s expression softened, and she smiled something small.

“I know you are,” she agreed. “You are very responsible and smart. But this is a very, very tiny animal. It could get hurt very easily. It will be a lot of work and care making sure it grows to be big and strong and well.”

“Big and strong like me,” Caboose nodded, serious and earnest like only a handful of times Tucker had seen before.

Usually when Tucker and Church had stopped talking after one of their big fights and Caboose told them to ‘stop being dumb and make up’- even though ‘dumb’ was a word his parents had told Caboose to never use or let himself be called.

“I will protect Sheila!” Caboose told his mom over Tucker’s loud thoughts. “Will you help me take care of her?”

His mom hesitated.

Tucker couldn’t help but speak up.

“You wanna call her Sheila? Like the robot monster from the movie that really freaked you out?”

“I was not scared, Tucker,” Caboose replied, drawing himself up and puffing out his chest. “I screamed so you would not start crying when all the aliens showed up on screen.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“You do not believe me.”

“Maybe it was because of all your screaming.”

Caboose huffed. “Silly Tucker! I was screaming because it was fun! Sheila was the greatest robot monster, cyborg, AI hero who ever lived. And she will be too!” he declared, raising one baffled, mewling kitten into the air.

“What if she’s not a girl?” Tucker pointed out.

“He can still be named Sheila,” Caboose argued. He looked at his mom. “Right?”

Miss Miranda sighed again, but it was a nice one, like she was fond of Caboose’s antics and not annoyed.“Let’s talk to your dad after dinner, and see what he says, okay?” she suggested.

Caboose cheered loudly and almost threw his hands towards the ceiling before remembering what was in them. With a grin, he stroked Sheila’s tiny head- then glanced at Tucker and his still on, dirty shoes with confusion.

“You’re not hungry?” he wondered.

Tucker stilled.

Looked at Miss Miranda.

Shuffled away.

“I can’t. Sorry.”

“Oh.” Caboose’s shoulders dropped. “Is it because your dad will be very mad?”

Tucker shifted. “Maybe,” he said, though he really wanted to say it was because Miss Miranda was beaming lasers into his head with a stare ten times more intense than any alien that had appeared on screen during that kinda scary movie _Alien Lockdown_ that had given him nightmares.

“Oh,” Caboose said again.

His mom touched his head lightly. “Honey, why don’t you join Tex and dad and show your sisters your new friend?”

“Okay!” Caboose perked up. He grinned at Tucker. “I will see you at school then! I will bring those fruit roll-ups you like, okay?”

He didn’t wait for Tucker’s answer, bounding back into the kitchen with a loud shout.

Tucker and Miss Miranda waited in silence.

Waited until the chatter from the kitchen picked up again, exclamations and questions rising at the appearance of the tiny kitten and _what was her name? Where did you find her, Texas?_

It was excruciating.

Tucker hated it.

And he knew better than anyone else when he was wanted around.

He turned for the door.

“Tucker.”

He stopped, hand on the golden knob, waiting.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” Miss Miranda asked.

Was she making fun of him?

After staring at him the whole time like that?

Tucker grit his teeth, shoved down the burning heat suddenly pressing in his chest and at his eyes.

“No, thank you,” he managed to get out.

That’s what he needed.

To get out.

Get out and go far, far away.

Back to his own mom who would never look at him the same way Miss Miranda looked at Caboose.

But Tucker’s mom loved him.

He knew she did.

Otherwise she wouldn’t have stayed.

Right?

“Tucker,” Caboose’s mom said again, more insistent than before.

He opened the door and ran.

 

* * *

 

The rain had stopped.

Tucker stood in front the wooden steps leading to his house, watching the water drip off the corner of the roof gutter and fall to the peeling paint of the dark-green porch below.

His dad’s truck was parked in the driveway.

Normal.

Red.

Well-kept.

Like its owner actually cared.

His eyes lingered on the truck before sliding back to the front door.

It would be so easy to run.

Tucker knew the area well enough from wandering with Tex and Church. The town was big, surrounded by woods with several highways leading out. If he couldn’t get into the back of someone’s car or trunk, he could head for Knox through the stretch of trees separating their towns.

But what then?

 _What then?_ his mind echoed.

No school, no friends, no home.

It’d be more embarrassing getting caught and dragged home.

And his mom was still here.

After everything she did for him- how could he leave?

Any way it didn’t matter.

Either way he was a coward.

Tucker straightened, clenched his jaw, steeled his glare.

 _Toughen up_ , he thought.

Then he walked into the den.

 

* * *

 

 

_“You didn’t stay.”_

_“I couldn’t.”_

_Tucker sat on the edge of a brown-sanded wall, gazing across a sweeping forest and brilliantly gold sun._

_Tex sat beside him, shoulder pressed against his own, eyes just as distant as she wondered-_

_“Then why are you staying now?”_

_“Because I have nowhere else to go.”_

_He felt Tex’s eyes on him._

_Felt her hand slip into his own._

_But he refused to look at her._

_And they said nothing else._

 

* * *

 

When Tucker opened his eyes, he was in Church’s car, head throbbing, disoriented and confused.

He tried to swallow.

Almost threw up instead.

His mind struggled to put back the pieces as he winced and tried to turn his head. He could barely see.

Snow battered on the windshield.

But it was terribly, terribly wrong.

Broken and red, slick with hot crimson, the view of the street was upside-down, and noisy, too noisy, filled with shining lights.

Tucker saw the swinging street lights, red then yellow then green.

Hurt.

It hurt.

Everything hurt.

His brain felt like it was leaking from his ears.

Tucker struggled, left arm pinned and burning.

He couldn’t move.

Why couldn’t he move?

_Dammit Church, what the hell?_

He wanted to curse, but his tongue refused to work, heavy and swollen and ladled in blood.

Panic seeped into what little remained of his brain.

What happened?

What _happened?_

Tucker tried to breathe. Tried to reach for a pulse. His hands were too squashed like his arm, somewhere pinned above his head and he couldn’t-

He couldn’t-

-he _couldn’t-_

 

* * *

_“-Breathe.”_

A hand on his head forced it down between his knees.

The engine rumbled, rattling the car.

Tucker gazed into the cramped blackness a mere foot from his face.

His bare toes gazed back.

He wiggled them, shuddered and breathed.

Eventually- eventually- Church’s hand left.

But Tucker stayed down, staring and staring into the car floor, because he remembered it being far worse off not too long ago.

Because, for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what he had been doing before.

He pulled himself up slowly and took a look around, a phantom pain pulsing at the back of his neck.

They were further in the city, surrounded by vivid streetlights and cars, water pelting on the roof, along the windows, beneath the monotonously beating swipers.

The light was red.

“What happened?” he mumbled.

“You freaked out.”

Tucker moved his buzzing head with great care to look at his friend.

Church was drumming his fingers on the wheel, peering through the poor weather, waiting almost anxiously for the light to change.

“I can’t remember,” Tucker said bewildered.

Church sat back, defeated, muttering under his breath.

“That’s the big problem, isn’t it?”

Tucker stared. “Excuse me?”

Church glanced at him. “The accident.”

Tucker glowered.

He didn’t need the reminder.

He banged his knee against the inside of the car’s passenger door instead, irritation rising fast. 

“Yeah. The _accident-_ everyone wants to keep talking about. Why’d you keep this stupid thing?” Tucker demanded to know.

Church scowled.

“Well I can’t get rid of it now, can I?”

“Whatever.”

And Tucker’s bad mood had miraculously returned.

Church looked at him in disbelief. “What exactly do you think I’m doing here, Tucker?” he snapped, voice rising.

“I don’t know because you haven’t told me,” Tucker snapped back just as loud.

“I said I was here because of you half a million times already you fucking idiot! Something you apparently can’t get through your thick, stupid head!”

“I’d like to hear you say that to Caboose, asshole.”

“Tucker I swear to God-”

“So what- you came back for me but dove off the planet for Tex? You didn’t find her so you came back to whine and be mad?”

“That’s _you._ ”

The light was green.

Neither of them cared.

“Is it?” asked Tucker. “Because I don’t remember leaving everyone and everything behind to go jump off the deep end for some fucking girl.”

“You piece of shit.”

Church was serious.

A thousand times serious- voice low, hands gripping on the wheel.

Tucker could give a rat's ass.

It was wrong, he knew, because Tex wasn’t just some girl.

Not to them.

But thinking of Caboose, of Carolina, their friends- everyone who’d gotten hurt with the news Tex was gone and suddenly Church was too-

“I saw her you know,” he said, hoping it would hurt. “She came here, out of nowhere, didn’t even care,” Tucker seethed, blood boiling beneath his skin. “Just showed up after forever and a half like you. You assholes get together and plan how fun it’d be to screw everyone up? Because you can go back to wherever the hell you came from!”

Tucker was yelling, and he couldn’t stop.

“Seriously- get the hell out of here! I’m so fucking pissed at you idiot! The hell do you want from me? It wasn't enough? Why’d you have to fuck off after her and die?!”

Church was quiet.

Deafeningly quiet.

The rain continued to fall.

The light stayed green.

Around them, the rest of the cars moved on.

Tucker slumped in the passenger seat, miserable and worn.

“Just go,” he said.

“I can’t,” Church answered.

“Just go,” he said again.

“Tucker. _I can’t.”_

And Church was looking at him wide-eyed, no longer mad, knuckles white as snow, fists clenched on his lap in panic.

“I’m not the one driving.”

Tucker looked down at the wheel- at his hands on the leather wheel- at the key stuck in ignition- at the black roof of his own battered car.

Out the weeping windshield was the road, half-washed in shadows and the swaying streetlights.

He watched as they changed from green to yellow to red.

His body shook.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Tucker slid his hands down the wheel and lowered his head.

“Why is this happening?” he whispered.

“Tucker.”

He could feel Church’s gaze on him, patient and calm.

“Tucker, I promise, it’s going to be okay.”

Tucker closed his eyes.

 

* * *

 

He frowned and stared at his glowing phone’s screen.

No calls, no messages, nothing but a blindingly, glaring 1:15.

His feet were cold.

Tucker wondered what he was doing out of bed.

After a long moment where no memory and answer came, he shrugged.

Flipped his phone, slipped into bed, T-shirt and boxers, distant ringing in his head.

He must’ve been mistaken, thinking someone had called.


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part II: Unspoken
> 
> So let's go back.

 

“You think this is enough?”

Tucker looked at the pathetic lone pack of burger buns Carolina held.

“Is that a serious question? You throw a barbeque and invite your man-crush and his muscly-buff buddies and all our food-guzzling friends and you think six buns in a plastic bag is enough?”

"We eat a lot. I got it." Carolina rolled her eyes at him- but went and grabbed eight more bags of buns in case.

Their cart was already full of chips, booze, soda, juice and meat. There were vegetables somewhere, probably crushed beneath the junk, and a box of vegan hot dogs and burgers kept purposefully out of sight.

For Simmons.

Damn him.

Carolina grumbled as they left the aisle and arrived at the busy front of the supermarket.

Saturdays were the worst to go shopping.

An hour before a planned get-together even worse.

They really needed to stop procrastinating and be real adults or something.

"Man, look at this line," Tucker complained. "I blame you."

Carolina fixed him with nothing short of a death stare as they paused to see which aisle was shorter. "I blame _you_. You wanted more bread, we got more bread. Now all the lines are full.”

“What- _ever,"_ Tucker snorted. "I’m not the one who spent eighty years weighing in on the _girth_ of hot dogs and burgers. Like it even fucking matters.”

“Excuse me for wanting to get my money’s worth. Not all of us have zero expectations in life.”

“Carolina, I'm a ten. My expectations? Even higher. The only thing here that’s a zero is my hope for you and your future boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

Tucker smirked. “Yet.”

She looked at him, eyes narrowed. “That's real nice. I hope you like carrying groceries, Tucker, because I’m not touching a single one. If your arms break off- minor inconvenience.”

Tucker barked out a laugh. “Ha! Who cares? I’m not the one paying. Least I'll still have my wallet.”

She scowled and eyed him with clear disgust. “Ugh. You’re juvenile.”

He waggled his brows. 

She punched him in the arm. 

Together, the moved towards aisle nine.

“Caboose got someone new,” said Tucker, a few minutes afterwards as they waited for the line to move. “ _David Washington._ Caboose is bringing him to the party.”

Carolina’s eyebrows raised. “You’re calling it a party?”

“What else am I supposed to call it? A get-together of people who all happen to know each other through coincidence and decide to sit around drinking and eating like best friends?”

“They are your friends.”

“Debatable.”

“What?" Carolina taunted. "You nervous about a few new faces?”

“I’m fucking confused,” Tucker corrected. “York, I get- but why’d you tell him to bring his friends too? That’s weird.”

“It’s not weird. _Besides_ , Caboose knows them.”

“Yeah, by the way, never getting over that.”

Carolina sighed in very clear exasperation. “ _Relax,_ Tucker. You’ll be there with your merry little crew anyway. They’ll protect you. Quit acting like it’s the end of the world.”

“You know you’re a part of that ‘merry little crew’ too, right?” said Tucker.

“Unwillingly.”

“So you say.”

They moved up in line.

Carolina eyed him from the side. “Alright, _Tucker_ ,” she began in an infuriatingly patronizing way that never failed to get under his skin. “What is it? What don’t you like about David Washington?"

“Besides the fact that his name sounds like it came out of an eighteen-hundreds history book?” Tucker scoffed.

He rolled his eyes.

Got defensive.

“I never said I didn’t.”

Carolina rolled her eyes right back. “O-kay.”

Tucker looked at her and made an ugly face.

For someone three years older she could be annoyingly immature.

Tucker knew he was exactly the same- but at least he didn’t _pretend_ like he was above acting like a kid.

Tucker shuffled on his feet, looking past the registers, beyond the large windows into the packed parking lot instead.

Anywhere but at Carolina.

“Look-” Tucker began after a long moment, “-if he’s good, then great. I’m not gonna complain. But if he’s just gonna crap off like the others because it’s ‘too much’ and they don’t know how to read a job description, then he can go fall into a ditch and die.”

“Please. Don’t hold back,” Carolina encouraged.

“I’m _serious_ ,” Tucker scowled, glaring hard at the ground.

And he meant it.

“What’s the point in getting Caboose all excited he’s got a ‘new friend’ if they’re gonna abandon him a few weeks later? How did they even get hired? Who picked them? They act like he’s some troubled kid in a straight-jacket who keeps escaping his bed to explore and not a fully functioning adult who can make his own decisions and live his own life. It’s not that hard to ‘take care’ of him, _Christ’s sake!”_

The people around them stared.

Tucker continued to glare, but felt, more than he saw, Carolina’s careful eyes on him as he refocused on the line and pushed their cart a little more forward.

“You know...”

Nope.

He did not like her tone at all.

“Caboose likes you. A lot. You’re his friend. A _good_ friend. I don’t see why you couldn’t live together as roommates and-”

“Are you kidding? His parents would flay me alive,” Tucker cut in. “Or call the police. They didn’t even want to consider letting him move out if it meant following me. They only let him cuz of Tex and Church. And Doc’s annoying ass- before he moved.”

Carolina looked at him like she didn’t quite know what to make of him. “Tucker. What are you talking about?”

“Nothing.” He nudged their cart ahead some more.

They were next. 

Finally.

He changed the subject swiftly.

“So what’s the deal with Church and Tex? It doesn’t weird you out at all that they’re getting pretty serious?”

“They’re not getting serious.”

“Yeah they are. Like you and _Leonardo.”_

“Tucker!” She whacked him on the arm, hard- one-hundred percent ready to do it again when he yelped, like his cries of pain spurred her on.

Figured.

Freaking sadist.

But man oh man, was it worth seeing the angry flush on her face and sheer panic in her eyes.

Few things fazed Carolina and her brother.

Actually, compared to Carolina, Church was an emotional wreck.

 _Nothing_ threw Carolina off-kilter. 

Except her asshole of a dad- and now York.

And that was saying something.

Tucker had seen her in action- watched her drop-kick the windshield of a perp’s car after somersaulting from the other side of the street- like an action movie stuntman instead of any other regular cop.

Watched as she grabbed the barrel of gun with her palm that was definitely loaded and punch it back into the face of their runaway guy full force.

That couldn't have been regulation.

But boy was it a day to cash a check in at the bank.

“You’re in _looove_ with him,” laughed Tucker even as Carolina viciously glared him down.

It was their turn in line.

Tucker kept snickering as he pushed their cart up. “Tell me, is it the chiseled chest? I bet he has one. And like eighty abs. You love abs. I'm surprised you're not jealous he has more than you though-”

Carolina ran over his foot as they unloaded their cart.

"Ow!"

She was still fuming thirty minutes later in the car halfway down the road to her apartment.

Though it wasn’t entirely directed towards Tucker anymore, if the way her eyes kept darting to the radio clock was any indication.

She was getting worked up over nothing- Tucker knew.

So it was a _little_ strange to show up at your own house an hour late to a barbeque you invited a bunch of people over for.

He doubted anyone would hold it against her. After all, social gatherings weren't really something either of them were good with.

Sure, get-togethers were a common thing among their circle of friends, but they were never anything special or announced.

Just Tex swinging by, Caboose in tow, and then them piling into her jeep to haul Church from the isolated hovel down a shady back street he had the audacity to call an ‘apartment’ so they could all crash at Carolina’s place.

She was the only one with a yard.

Sometimes Grif showed.

Sometimes Simmons.

Donut always came three hours later with a bunch of fruit in hand.

“I think you broke my foot,” he commented over the highway wind a short second later, glancing at his dented sneaker between the horde of groceries bags it was buried halfway under.

“Good.”

Tucker snorted and slouched in his seat. “This thing with York’s got you so worked up. I can’t believe you like someone who’s real name was taken from a sword-wielding, dungeon turtle.”

"They live in the sewer, Tucker, not a  _dungeon_."

"Is there a difference?"

Tucker paused.

Turned almost full body in the seat to look at Carolina.

"Wait.  _You_ watched that show?"

Carolina kept her eyes on the road, but there was something of an amused glint in her eyes.

She didn't answer the question, but she did say, "He's not named after the turtle. He’s named after the artist. Or the actor.”

“Is that what he told you?”

“Who’d name their kid after a cartoon turtle?”

“Why do you think he goes by his middle name?”

Carolina groaned. “I am _not_ having this conversation with you.”

“That’s okay,” Tucker grinned. “You can have it with _him_ over a romantic dinner with flowers and a big turkey and wine.”

“Why would there be a turkey?” Carolina deadpanned.

“You have no imagination,” Tucker replied, rolling his window the rest of the way down just to watch her holler as her neatly-combed hair flew into a disarray.

Ridiculous.

She never cared before about looking _nice._

She was always intense, so work-driven, so unaffected by anyone and anything.

Then _York_ , with his easy grin and broad shoulders and lifeguard body and ‘save the innocents’ personality appeared during an investigation at the YMCA and there was absolutely no going back.

For Tucker.

Any kind of YMCA that had police pay it a visit was as good as closed in Tucker’s mind.

But not for Carolina apparently.

She was now the owner of a membership she had never ever had before in her life, and spent the evenings doing aggressive laps at the pool as York watched concerned from his post and everyone else cleared the lane.

Tucker knew this only because he had been dragged there against his will once to ‘get a read on her ‘person of interest’.

Like he was a suspect or something.

Honestly, if this was what love did to a person, he was _glad_ to be single.

Carolina didn’t even like their barbeques- why the hell was she throwing one?

Tucker and Tex just showed up on her door, as Caboose dragged Church from behind, and kept knocking until she had no choice but to let them in or suffer hearing them yell and bicker with each other on her front step.

Yet when _Mr. Lifeguard_ asked about her weekend plans, she was all for throwing a fiesta and calling over every person she knew to fill her yard, and-

"- _while we’re at it, wouldn’t it be great if you invited over some of your friends York? Let’s put up a net, get some competitive sport going, become best friends and while we’re at it, lovers, because we’re probably going to be married in the future. And wow, what a small world- you know Grif and Simmons? And Caboose? I had no idea."_

And that was absolutely what the conversation between them must’ve been like and Tucker could not be unconvinced because _how?_

How were the same people who worked on the upstairs floor of Tucker’s buildings the same ones who fixed his computer all the time over the phone?

How did York and his friends happen to be the same guys who worked out at Caboose’s gym and did spinning classes?

Is that why they all had incredible thighs?

Because they spun?

All they needed was for Caboose’s old caretaker, Doc, to show up and say _what a coincidence it was that he was York’s neighbor and yippee ki-yay_ , now they could _really_ make it a full party.

Tucker looked out the car window with a thousand-yard stare. 

No but seriously. 

If that shit happened, he was out.

 

~x~

 

_“York?"_

“Hey,” the older man greeted from inside Carolina's own house as they arrived and the door swung in. 

Tucker would’ve been fine kicking the stupid thing in with all the bags currently _breaking his arms_ , but Carolina’s death glare towards his swinging leg had made him reconsider quickly. 

And now there was York at the door who had apparently been lounging in her house for the past hour.

 _"Awkward,"_ Tucker muttered. 

“You’re...here,” Carolina noted, ignoring Tucker, more wariness in her eyes than the surprise from before.

York glanced over his shoulder somewhat sheepishly, and for the first time Tucker noticed all the voices coming from inside the house and around the back.

There was even music playing.

"The fuck?" Tucker wondered.

“About that...”

York returned his gaze to them, sorry.

He winced Carolina's way.

“You know, I was sitting out front waiting, but then one of your friends arrived with Caboose and broke in, and then a bunch of other people showed- and I think I saw Grif? Then _my_ friends got out the car and went in too so I followed after to try and stop them but I didn't. And... I guess now we’re here...?" He scratched the back of his neck. "I’m sorry I came in without permission.”

What was this, the third grade?

A parent-teacher conference?

A confrontation in the principal’s office?

What the hell was happening?

Carolina cleared her throat, standing ramrod straight.

“Oh," she began.

Her voice grew stiff and weird.

Like she was trying to be friendly. 

"It’s- don’t apologize. It’s fine. Those are my friends. They...do that sort of thing. A lot. How are things?”

“Good. I think,” York answered. He grinned- and hell- it  _was_ handsome. “You have a nice place,” he complimented.

“Thank you.”

“Oh my god you two are killing me,” Tucker groaned, because as good-looking as York was and great it was Carolina dug him, the conversation needed to end yesterday. 

His arms were going to pop off and Carolina was acting like _they_ were the guests for the barbeque instead.

“Good to see you again, dude,” he said to York. “But can we _please_ move this totally awkward conversation inside? I'm begging you.”

York stepped aside, chuckling as he finally took note of Tucker’s predicament.

“Any more you need help with?" he asked, grabbing several bags off Tucker’s arm and glancing out the door towards Carolina’s car.

“Ohh yeah,” chortled Tucker. “They’re all in the trunk. Lina couldn’t figure what kind of bread you liked your meat with so she- _owhow!”_

Carolina removed her fist from between his shoulders.

“Sorry, didn’t see you there,” she apologized with no remorse and eyes burning with a clear message.

_Stop talking._

So Tucker didn’t.

Obviously.

“That’s okay,” he joked. “You must’ve been distracted by someone with really big shoulders and a ten pack.”

And that was how Tucker spent the first ten minutes of the barbeque trying to escape a murderous choke hold as York went and calmly took all the bags and fallen groceries to Carolina’s kitchen.

They were _still_ grappling when York went to get the rest of the food from the car- and only stopped once he doubled back to ask how Carolina wanted to handle the meat on the grill.

“Oh, I can help you with that,” Carolina said, getting off Tucker’s shoulders and releasing the arm she’d twisted.

Tucker wheezed and rolled over, sitting up with great care and a mutinous glare.

“Cheater! I called ‘mercy’ like eighty times!”

Carolina glanced at him, grinning coyly- like she was clever or something.

“Must’ve not heard. Guess I got distracted by someone’s _big shoulders_ ,” she snorted before joining York in her kitchen.

“He wasn’t even here!” Tucker exclaimed.

She didn’t answer. 

Of course.

He rolled his eyes and grumbled, getting to his feet and following after the pair.

Carolina _did_ have a nice place, right on the end of a street corner, beige and blue and extremely tidy with hardwood floors and marble counters.

Bookshelves in the living room and spice racks beneath the kitchen cupboards made it look cozy, the dumbbells and exercise equipment- intimidating.

Unlike Tucker, she did have pictures of all of them and mementos of important moments in her life, from graduation medals to certificates and tassels from her time spent in the marching band, first chair flute and valedictorian of Charon Academy- a high school for the privileged and elite- though she never bragged.

But Tucker was one of the few who knew why.

That the display of achievements wasn’t meant to show her skills to anyone who visited, but served as a reminder to herself on bad days of everything she had gone through to get to where she was today.

So if a guy with a winning smile and decent morals swung by and made her happy, yeah Tucker would absolutely tease and make jokes, but he wouldn’t ever complain.

Someone else did though.

As soon as he entered the kitchen.

“No wonder the food took so long getting here. Look who they had bring it in."

Tucker scowled at the two bozos across the counter.

“Shut up, Grif. And who’s ‘they’? You’re the ones who waltzed in when the owner of the house wasn’t even here.”

“First of all, Tex busted in. We just followed her example.”

“And what’s your second point?”

“Don’t have one. But I bet it makes you mad.”

He was right.

It did.

Tucker glared and moved his gaze to Simmons instead. “I’m trashing your vegan food asshole.”

Simmons’s face dropped as he exclaimed, “What? But I didn’t do anything!”

“Crime by association!”

Grif scoffed. “What’s the crime?”

“Provocation and headassery,” Tucker scoffed back.

“The only headassery here is your own,” Carolina told him, unpacking the groceries and sliding Simmons his two boxes of frozen, vegan food. "Here's your rabbit food."

"I'll gladly eat 'rabbit food' if it means living longer than all you processed food guzzlers."

The look Carolina gave Simmons should've smited him on the spot. 

He backtracked quickly.

"-is what I  _would've_ said if I was talking to Grif. Which I was. I was talking to Grif." 

Tucker snorted. "Smooth."

Simmons looked at him. "Shut up." 

“So you do know each other,” York spoke up, glancing between them all with clear curiosity.

Tucker had to wonder where the guy’s friends went.

Had they been out ‘partying’ in the yard while York had waited indoors for Carolina with some sort of guilt complex for somewhat accidentally, illegally being inside her house?

Carolina must’ve gotten over her own awkwardness in the comfortable familiarity of idiocy, because she stopped eyeing Tucker and Grif like they were a pair of fools to smile at York like they were years-old buddies.

“Yeah,” she answered. “Grif’s from the same town. Known him since we were kids.”

She nodded from the scruffy and stubbled, squat man that was Grif, to his gangly, red-haired, freckled counterpart.

“Simmons we met when we moved here.”

Carolina shook her head.

“I still can’t believe you know them.”

“And yet here we are. How nice,” said Grif dryly.

He ripped open a case of beer, grabbed one for himself and slid another towards Tucker.

“Your intern keeps coming up to our floor with conspiracy theories. Make him stop.”

“He’s not my intern,” said Tucker, cracking the seal on his can.

“Your intern or not, I think he makes some valid points,” Simmons chimed in. “Why _do_ so many planes keep flying overhead releasing fumes? How come there are so many mattress stores on the same block? You know, I actually discussed this on my video posted last week and there’s a large community that would agree-”

Grif looked at Tucker as Simmons continued to ramble on. “You see what I have to deal with?” he deadpanned.

“Can’t relate,” Tucker snorted. "He's your boyfriend, not mine."

"He's not my boyfriend."

"Yeah okay." Tucker glanced at York. "Where are _your_ friends?” 

“Out back, putting up a net,” York answered.

Simmons stopped his one-sided conversation on the plausibility of cloning among their politicians and celebrities-

Just to share a significantly long look with Grif and Tucker.

“Oh. I was wondering whose idea that was,” Simmons said slowly.

“Yeahh. You really wanna have a game?” Grif questioned York.

Carolina began to ignore the conversation, ripping open three chip bags and dumping them in massive bowls instead.

“Why not?” York wondered.

Grif toasted his beer and Simmons joined.

“Your funeral,” they said.

Tucker agreed.

Caboose, Carolina and Tex on one field?

Someone was spiking a ball into the house and setting it on fire.

It wouldn’t be the first time a window broke and Simmons’s face almost got shaved off either.

Tucker shuddered at the memory.

Truly an eye-opening day for them all.

“Tuck-”

He looked up.

Standing at the small kitchen door leading to the yard was Tex, hair pulled up and back, waggling her eyebrows.

“Bring out the burger and buns and come meet Caboose’s _new friend_.”

“Why do I have to bring the buns?” Tucker complained, doing it anyway.

Simmons grabbed their boxes of burgers and bagged vegetables before Tucker could get the rest.

“I’ll come with you,” he volunteered.

Tucker eyed him with great suspicion. “Why?”

“Why not?” countered Simmons. “I’m always looking for new friends. Maybe he can subscribe to my channel.”

“Yeah. Maybe he believes in Yetis too,” Tex retorted.

“Yetis _are_ real,” Simmons insisted. “There’s so much proof-”

“Okay, we’re going!” Tucker said, pushing out the door hastily after Tex.

The weather was blistering hot, no surprise there.

Spring had long since been rolling into summer with no ounce of hesitation or remorse.

Tucker, blinded by the sun, stumbled down the wooden stairs into the yard and spectacularly took out a person walking by who had been carrying the biggest tray of dip and vegetables he’d ever seen.

They went down in a hail of carrots and tomatoes, somewhere a familiar voice screaming, _“My veggies!”_

But just as quickly as attention had fallen on them with a few guffaws and snorts, it was gone, and Tucker pushed up red-faced, apologizing to whoever he’d taken down.

“Sorry, man, I didn’t-”

Doc beamed at the sight of his face.

“What.” Tucker stopped.

Stared.

Restarted his brain.

“What the ever-living fuck are _you_ doing here?” he asked incredulously.

Doc laughed, clapping him on the shoulder and giving Tucker a supremely enthusiastic shake. “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you!”

“Then don’t.”

“Wash, Caboose’s new caretaker, and I are old pals! We practiced in the same circle a few years back when I first got relocated from Ford to Camden, and now I run a private practice about forty minutes in. Wash and I are buddies that frequently meet, so when I heard he was taking a job with Caboose, I had to come see him. I gotta say, I missed Caboose- he looks like he’s doing great! And living largely independent? Isn’t that swell? It’s such a small world!”

Tucker stared. "Yeah, thanks for the exposition."

Doc chuckled.

During his ramble, he had somehow managed to gather all the spilled vegetables and pile them back on the tray with obnoxious gusto.

The dip was a lost cause but Doc didn’t seem to care, smearing it into the grass and ground with the toe of his shoe.

“Just look at that,” he said, glancing at Tucker afterwards with a cheerful grin and soft gaze. “The gang’s all back together.”

Fucking great.

Tucker was getting a headache and he’d only been around everyone for ten minutes. His tolerance for people had really gone down.

Or maybe it was the sun.

Anyway, there were a lot of things he wanted to say, mainly along the lines of _‘I’m going home’_ and _‘I hate this small, swell world of yours’,_ but what came out instead was an extremely flat, one-hundred percent done with life-

“Can you not?”

Doc laughed again and punched him with his free hand in the shoulder. “Always the jokester!”

Tucker stared the hell out of him.

Doc continued to laugh.

Behind them, at the top of the porch stairs, Simmons finally spoke.

“Are you two going to do this all day or can I come down?”

Doc brightened even more. “Simmons!”

“... _You.”_

Tucker moved away as Doc went to reminisce with Simmons in his stead, not at all caring about how the two had met and somehow also knew each other out of the thousands of different people living in their city.

Tex, who had wandered off at some point during the whole debacle, had returned, cold beer in hand.

“Nice slapstick routine,” she commented. “Really set the bar high.”

“Fuck off.” He eyed her drink. “You didn’t even grab me one?”

Tex raised her eyebrows. “Why? So you could drop that too?”

“Sometimes I really hate you.”

“Noted.”

She steered him through the smattering of York’s unfamiliar friends and a handful of Carolina’s coworkers- and wow everyone really  _had_ just walked into her home- dispersed among the small yard, past a table of refreshments and coolers, to a lone tree near the back, with bushes on one side of the fence and on the other, a road leading further in to a much busier street towards the inner city.

Caboose was there, facing the opposite way, chatting to his supposed new caretaker animatedly.

Tucker analyzed the new face swiftly.

And made a face.

Guy looked like he had stepped out of the military- not a practice for patient care.

Dressed in a polo and slacks.

_Slacks._

Like they were at a summer company function.

Broad, square-jawed, undercut beneath a sweep of blond and steel eyes.

Well- the color of them anyway.

His actual eyes were focused and _interested_ in whatever jargon Caboose was putting out- something about not having the right amount of bodies to complete the tests and how he’d have to get some more, maybe off the street, and _oh my god what the hell were they talking about-_

“Caboose,” he interrupted, wide-eyed.

His huge friend spun, expression lighting like a bulb in the dark.

“Tucker! I was just telling Washington about the spinning class.”

“What about it?”

“There is a huge thermometer they installed in the front of the room. I motivate everyone when I teach by yelling that the harder they sweat, the more the red will increase. So we worked beyond our limits until everyone was yelling with me and I was yelling back! It was very, very fun and inspiring, but it didn’t go up enough. I thought I needed more people to get it to the top, but Washington says all I have to do is add more hills.”

Tucker looked at Caboose, fearing for the lives of strangers stuck in the already Hades-born cycling course now turned into a flaming journey through the fifth ring of hell.

“How are they not dead?” he asked.

“Well, you know,” Caboose sighed happily, trailing off to gaze at the clouds in the sky a bit unfocused. “I gave them plenty of wet towels beforehand and a warning at the door to turn back if they were scared before I shut off all the lights and turned the music so loud all they could hear was noise and their own yells screaming into the void as they worked.”

“That’s sick.”

“Thank you.”

“No, I mean, that's fucking sick. That's some demonic shit.”

Caboose turned his nose up at Tucker. “I would not expect you to understand since you are weak like a noodle, but my partner said I did a great job and that there were people who wanted to enroll after it was all said and done. So you are wrong. As usual. The end.”

Tucker had so many things to say to that.

So many things.

Especially with Tex’s shit-eating grin at his back.

But he ignored them both and switched his attention to Caboose’s caretaker instead, who’d been listening in on the exchange with mild curiosity.

“You must be Tucker,” the man said when he caught Tucker’s gaze.

He offered a hand.

“Washington. Wash. Wash is easier.”

“O-kay, _Washington_ ,” Tucker replied, shaking the hand.

Washington expression creased, slightly amused at Tucker’s not-so-subtle hostility.

Tucker scowled at the look. "You're friends with Caboose now, huh?"

“I am,” the other man agreed unbothered. “He talks about you a lot.”

"Oh does he?"

"Yes. ...That's what I just said."

“Yes, hello, I am right here,” Caboose interceded calmly before Tucker could really get heated.

Washington adjusted himself casually so all four of them were in a misshapen circle.

“Yes, you are. Sorry, Caboose.”

“No worries,” Caboose answered breezily. “ Sometimes I like to just listen and watch.”

Tucker turned on him at the speed of light.

“Yeah, about that- stop breaking into my house.”

“Um. You do not live in a house, Tucker. You live in a very small apartment. Stop lying.”

“No, I’m serious, Caboose. I changed the lock. How do you keep getting in?”

“You never lock the door.”

“I do!”

“Then how do I keep getting inside?” Caboose pointed out.

“That’s what I’m asking!” Tucker insisted.

"But I have already answered."

"You haven't!"

“I'm sorry- what is this conversation?” Washington cut in very flatly.

“It is nonsense!” Caboose announced in a raised tone, staring Tucker in the eye. “Because Tucker is nonsense! And needs to lock his door. And I am getting a beer. Tex can come with me and so can Washington if they would like! Tucker can stay here alone.”

Tucker squinted.

“Jokes on you. I _like_ being alone.”

Caboose huffed, sidling from their little circle and making a beeline for the table currently getting stacked in fresh-off-the-grill kebobs and meat.

Tex sauntered off with him, probably to antagonize Carolina who was fumbling her way through another awkward conversation with York by the volleyball net.

Leaving Washington with Tucker.

And a long stretch of silence.

Perfect.

“You don’t like me,” Washington stated after a moment, unoffended, voice level enough to be a table.

Tucker shifted, crossed his arms, uncrossed them and scowled.

“Very observant. Want a medal?"

"An explanation would be better."

"Bet it would. When’d you figure it out?”

“Might’ve been the glare. Body language. Tone.”

And Washington didn’t look an ounce annoyed.

Just...contemplative.

In a way Tucker detested.

“I’m told Caboose had a lot of care-persons before me,” Washington said after a moment. “And a lot of bad friends.”

Tucker put his hands into the back of his jeans and rocked on his heels. “He’s had enough.”

“You think I’ll leave.”

“I think you’ll do something wrong.”

“But you don’t know me.”

“Does it matter? You wouldn’t be the first.”

“I know what I accepted the job for.”

“Do you? Because he’ll drive you nuts. Drive you up the wall. Make you want to yell. Drag you out in the middle of the night for weird trips into the woods whether you want to go or not and call you over things like a squirrel in a tree.”

Something in Washington’s gaze changed, from slight offense to understanding in an instant.

“Tucker. I'm not going to hurt your friend. I like Caboose. We had preliminary meetings before he chose me for months ahead of time. I’ve met his parents. I’m surprised he didn’t tell you, but we’ve spent overnight weekends together too, to better get to know one another. We have a surprising amount in common- and I’m not telling you this just to make you feel better. If there was someone I didn’t think I would be able to help with full sincerity or good intentions, I wouldn’t involve myself in their life. I know how detrimental that can be.”

Washington’s seriousness broke, a hint of a smile slipping on his face.

“We don’t have to be friends, Tucker, but I’d like to be Caboose’s. It’d be nice if you could give me a chance.”

Now Tucker felt embarrassed.

And kinda like a tool for jumping the gun with his slew of assumptions.

He coughed, properly told off, and scratched his neck.

“Right. Sorry.”

He stood there awkwardly for a long, long second.

“So. Uh. Where do you come from?”

“Bethany, twelve hours east.”

“Neat.”

Tucker had never heard of it.

He nodded at Washington, then skittered away with a rushed-

“Nice to meet you- or whatever.”

There was laughter in Washington’s voice as he called out after him.

“You too.”

 

~x~

 

Turned out, the barbeque wasn’t bad.

The competitive volleyball between them was a bloodbath as expected.

York realized far too late the dangers of pitting two highly athletic and competitive women against one another after getting spiked in the face three times by Tex and once by his own teammate, Carolina, when she drove her elbow back mid-leap to block an attack like a super-powered Spartan.

York’s friends were as relaxed as him, open and uncaring about Caboose or Donut’s horrendously bright, sparkling, spandex shorts- revealed to the crowd after he ripped off his sweats for the game.

Granted there were some startled screams, but they were fully warranted because _who did that_ while plating hot dogs?

At any rate, they all got over it pretty fast with minimal scarring.

Probably.

Now the sun set in the distance, a faint spread of smeared orange and red on the far horizon, a half-crescent moon pale and waiting to come forth from its bowing curve.

Tucker leaned back on the fence as the city winded down, can of soda halfway gone, gaze on the distant clouds.

Around him everyone else was the same, subdued, chatting lightly, some having vanished inside to sit more cozy as they talked the time away.

Right.

He’d almost forgotten.

That was how these things worked.

Get-togethers were all about having fun and catching up on each other’s lives, weren’t they?

Not that he had much of one.

He stifled a sigh.

Just like him to get in a mood with a can of Sprite in hand in the middle of somebody else’s yard in the middle of a Saturday night.

Boy, did he know how to party.

Tex was somewhere becoming buddies with York’s pals inside the townhouse, Carolina no doubt with York there too.

Grif had left a short while ago with Simmons in tow to watch some weekly documentary on cryptids, and Caboose was...

Tucker scanned the yard again.

There.

By the grill.

Cleaning plates and the grease from the grills with Washington and Doc, laughing between conversation.

For a long minute, Tucker wondered if he should go over and help.

Maybe join in on the talk.

The thought came and went without stopping. 

Yeah fuck that.

He returned to nursing his drink, swinging his gaze to the street behind him.

It was peaceful and quiet.

A good place to live.

His own complex was kind of cramped.

And he had been thinking of moving when his lease ended in the fall.

Maybe he should-

“Well isn’t this typical?”

Tucker turned his head- and did a double-take.

“Church? Where the hell were _you_ all day?”

His friend joined him at the fence, dropping back with his hands in his jeans and a scoff on his lips.

“Some of us have to work weekends. We can’t all be boozing around like a bunch of teens.”

“ _Boozing around?_ What are you- somebody’s parent?”

“Ha ha, you’re a riot,” said Church, like he always did.

Like it was little more than a breath of air escaping the body of a person who had long since given up faith in the human race.

“Why are you moping in the corner like a loser?” his friend prodded. “I could see your miserable ass from the street.”

Tucker shrugged. “Just no one to talk to.”

“Aw, you big baby,” grinned Church, waggling his eyebrows. “C’mon, you can talk to me. What’s up?” he pestered, nudging Tucker in the side.

Tucker grumbled and elbowed him back in the ribs.

_“Nothing.”_

He glanced around the yard again.

In the blink of an eye, everyone had vanished inside, Caboose and Washington included with their gathered foils and plates.

Or maybe he’d been staring out at the street longer than he realized.

“Seriously, what did you come here for?” Tucker wondered, turning his attention back to Church. “Party’s over, dude.”

“Caboose,” replied Church with a half-shrug. “He’s with me tonight. Wanted to watch some movies, play some games, leave comments on Simmons’s channel about how everything is fake- so I came to pick him up.”

“Thanks for the invite.”

“Weird. Don’t think we ever gave you one.”

Tucker scoffed.

Church smirked.

They went for the lone cooler lying in the grass by the empty table.

“Oh yeah,” Church said suddenly as Tucker knelt, ditched his Sprite and grabbed two bottles of beer by the neck. “I think I saw Doc. The fuck's up with that?”

“Don’t remind me,” muttered Tucker, getting to his feet. “It’s like we live in each other’s pockets. How did we end up with everyone here?”

“Trash is attracted to trash.”

“You’re calling yourself trash?”

“I know what I am.”

“Touche.”

“That’s not... the right way to use that.”

Tucker shrugged. “Meh.”

They twisted off caps with Church’s car key, clinked bottles and drank.

Church waited for a few moments, gaze roaming, appearing to take in the silence, the vacant yard, and oddly enough Tucker’s face.

He drank a little more, then asked carefully, “How’s your mom?”

Tucker, in the middle of a swig, didn’t sputter or spit.

He did inhale a bunch of beer up his nose and burn his throat and nostrils with a bitterness that had nothing to do with the drink in his hands.

He rubbed his fist across his mouth, wondering when his fingers got so tightly clenched, and stared at the grass in the ground.

His shoes were dirty again.

“Fine,” he heard himself reply, a bit too distant, a bit not there. “I think. I didn’t- I haven’t gone to see her. Not sure she’d want to see me- after all this time.”

Or was it the other way around?

He didn’t like thinking of it much.

Of the person who’d sacrificed so much- now confined to a chair alone.

Because of him.

Always... _always._..

“I think she’d want to,” said Church somewhere.

Tucker looked up, confused, absolutely baffled as to when he had walked away and sat down on the porch’s stairs.

Church approached, expression masked by the new angle and dimmed townhouse lights. "You don't think so."

“I dunno,” Tucker answered.

It was probably questionable for the both of them, Tucker noted to himself belatedly.

Parents and family and what they meant.

Church sat on the step below him, one foot on the ground, a knee to his chest, elbow propped, half-turned to regard Tucker, beer bottle neck held loosely between crooked fingers.

He looked like he wanted a smoke.

Or a stronger drink.

Having neither, he simply turned a broodish stare into the dark expanse of the yard. '“It doesn’t get easier, that’s for damn sure. They’re your parents until they’re not, but all the crap between you stays.”

Church wasn’t talking about just Tucker.

He felt himself frown.

“Your dad?”

“Butting in, like he has a say over anything since he kicked us out,” seethed Church, eyes simmering with heat.

His hold on his bottle became an iron grip, white-knuckled and pissed.

“His reach is everywhere. There’s not a company in my field within a hundred mile radius I can work in without him keeping tabs on where I am. My failures. My success. Even if I moved countries, I bet that guy would still know. I can’t get away.”

Tucker was silent for the longest time.

And then he wasn’t.

“...It’d be different,” he heard himself say in the stillness.

Quiet and level and not at all in a voice his own brain could recognize.

Church seemed equally surprised- or at the very least confused- as he stopped glaring into the night to slide his gaze onto Tucker’s face.

Amazingly, his feet on the porch step caught Tucker’s attention once more. “It’d be different,” he repeated. “Would've been different. Better for you. If we’d never met.”

Silence at his words.

Tucker felt like he’d been punched, by himself, right in the chest at the admission, and wondered if Church did too.

Probably not.

His friend had to have known the truth for a long time now.

Tucker got up, sighing, before Church could try and fumble a lie to make them both feel better about their lives.

“I’m beat,” he complained, a half-truth as he stretched his arms above his head.

Because he was- mentally.

And maybe a little physically.

York wasn’t the only one getting pelted with volleyballs during that game.

He snorted at the thought.

Grinned down at Church.

“Your sister’s terrible at love. You should buy her one of those help books.”

Church, who had been looking at Tucker with a shade of bewilderment in his eyes, was now staring at him in full disbelief.

“Do you want me to die?”

Tucker’s grin grew.

He went and grabbed the door.

“Later, Church.”

“Tucker wait-”

He didn’t wait, letting the door clatter shut as he stepped inside.

York’s friends and Carolina's few coworkers were gone, but Doc, Donut, Washington and Caboose remained, alongside Carolina and Tex, spread across the sofa and living room floor.

York was at the kitchen counter, putting a bunch of ice into an open rag. “Heading out?” he asked, looking up from his creation.

“Yeah.” Tucker set his half-finished beer on the counter. “So what did you think? Wanna come over again?” he teased.

York grimaced, hand touching his bruised eye. “I should’ve listened to Grif.”

“Yeah, you should’ve,” laughed Tucker, trying not to let his mind wander.

It was similar.

_It looked similar._

No, focus-

“You’re lucky Lina didn’t take your head off with it.”

They both knew what IT was.

The Super-Spartan-Spike Carolina sent across the court with so much force it ricocheted off the net and nearly broke York’s face in two.

“I’m game for another visit. Just another sport,” York confessed. He picked up his rag full of ice and held it over his eye. “Maybe a football next time. Easy tossing.”

Tucker stared. “It’s like you want to die.”

“I’m not that bad,” Carolina retorted, at some point having left her conversation with the others to come over.

She glanced at York.

Hesitated.

Immediately became the stiffest rock in existence.

“But sorry,” she apologized haltingly. “You know. For the face.”

York smiled at her, though it shook with a wince and grimace. “No harm done. Probably.” He looked at Tucker. “Need a ride? I was going to leave in another hour, but you came in Carolina’s car, right?”

“Creepy attention to detail,” answered Tucker sincerely. “But it’s cool, no need.” He found himself grinning deviously. “Spend some more time with _everyone_ if you’d like, don't let me get in the way-”

Carolina jabbed his side under the counter.

"My rib!"

"I didn't touch your ribs you baby."

" _No,_ you only  _broke_ them," Tucker scowled.

Seconds later, Church stepped in, the cooler from the yard in hand.

He set it on the floor, nodded at York, then jerked his chin at Tucker and said as though he’d been listening in from outdoors-

“I’ll give you a lift with Caboose. It’s on the way.”

Tucker raised his brow, looking towards Caboose who was on his feet and engorged in a conversation with Donut over weight-lifting stances and posture while Doc chimed in potential pros and cons to each pose Caboose struck.

Washington and Tex were arguing against all the pros because none of them made sense, and _aesthetic doesn’t mean anything, it’s not a runway, Donut._

“Looks like you should stick around a bit longer too. Unless you know a way to end... _that,_ ” Tucker told Church, bringing his eyes back to his friend. “I can walk.”

Carolina and Church looked at him.

York refolded his rag in the small stretch of silence, unfazed by the staring match Tucker and the Church siblings were engaged in.

“It’s twenty minutes,” said Tucker at last.

“By car,” added Carolina. “I’ll give you a ride.”

“Are you all that eager to show me the inside of your car? I’m fine. There’s no highway. I won’t get lost. I even have a phone you can bombard with texts and calls when you think I’ve fallen down a ditch.”

Carolina and Church exchanged a glance.

A telepathic sibling glance they were definitely using to talk about him.

It lasted a second, annoyance in both their stances as they argued over god knows- and then came to a general consensus.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” they advised Tucker together, matching inflections and all.

“Your faith in me is astounding,” he retorted. He offered York a hand, feeling a hundred-percent dumb. “Nice meeting you, dude. Watch your eye, huh?”

York ignored Tucker’s handshake and clapped him on the shoulder. “Will do. Thanks, Tucker. We should do this again.”

Tucker had to wonder why it sounded like the guy was asking him, of all people, for permission to join a future barbeque.

Did he somehow _look_ like he was responsible for their shin-dig tonight?

Weird.

He wasn’t.

Tucker brushed aside his thoughts, brushed aside the asking promise of ‘again’, put on a smile and said, “Sure.”

There were eyes on his back as he left.

He didn’t bother to check whose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's another story on here Recollections I started writing under a different username and then I lost that email and account and vanished off the face of the planet for about a thousand years. You'll probably find some similar parallels if you've read what's there. At least this one is finished though haha'
> 
> Life got crazy?
> 
> Thank you for the interest <3 
> 
> I hope you'll continue to maybe like this story?


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